Lazarus is Raised From the Dead

Year: Between 2^nd and 5^th centuries

Artist: Unknown

Location: Catacombs of Pricilla

Medium: Fresco

Dimensions: Approx. 1ft by 1ft

So Jesus, again being deeply moved within, came to the tomb. Now it was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. ³⁹ Jesus said, “Remove the stone.” Martha, the sister of the deceased, said to Him, “Lord, by this time there will be a stench, for he has been dead four days.” ⁴⁰ Jesus said to her, “Did I not say to you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” ⁴¹ So they removed the stone. Then Jesus raised His eyes, and said, “Father, I thank You that You have heard Me. ⁴² I knew that You always hear Me; but because of the people standing around I said it, so that they may believe that You sent Me.” When He had said these things, He cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come forth.” ⁴⁴

The man who had died came forth.  ~ John 11: 38-44

I have chosen to enter the mind of the artist who created this piece of art. It is not a well-known piece and the artist himself is anonymous, however, from the tour we were given of the Pricilla Catacombs I have written a poem (if you wish to call it poetry) of what any artist working in those dark halls may have been thinking, seeing, hearing and feeling.  These are the musings of an artist.

Light in the Dark

The dead surround me, they press in on me

Their silence is deafening, their voices are not heard.

As I paint I try to hear them, but they have gone now;

Gone to pastures green, gone to cups overflowing

I hear a mother weeping for the child that will cry no more

She calls to the dead, but they will not answer.

She calls to the living, they cannot console her.

She calls to her Savior who now holds her child in His arms

A dark corridor descends to the right of me,

It is filled with bodies swallowed by the black.

I have walked these corridors, I have seen these bodies,

I have mourned their passing, I have celebrated their death.

I rejoice in their return, I praise their devotion to the Lord

I seek the good which God brings from sorrow.

I seek to show life where there is none,

To bring hope to a weeping mother.

The light flickers near my head, my arm begins its stroke

It must be done fast, it must be done bold.

I don’t have time to be elaborate

I don’t have time to fix mistakes

The blackness of his tomb appears, his body forms in the black

The man raised from the dead, Lazarus the faithful

The friend of Jesus, the one for whom wept

I form His outstretched hand; The Savior reaches toward the fallen

I wish to spread hope to the dead, to the weeping mother

Her loved one will be raised again, raised with the faithful

The friends of Jesus, the ones for whom He has wept

We hold His outstretched hand, which he reaches toward His beloved.